When I was a kid, summer was the best season, hands down. Summer
days were carefree ones when a child’s activities were not
scheduled in advance by some greater authority like teachers or
parents.
When I was a kid, summer was the best season, hands down. Summer days were carefree ones when a child’s activities were not scheduled in advance by some greater authority like teachers or parents. Riding your bike to the dime store to buy baseball cards; seeing a double feature at the Sequoia Theater; and at an older age, riding a motorcycle to the beach to body surf – how could any other season compete with that? The absence of school alone gave summer an unbeatable edge in the seasonal popularity contest.
Now, I must confess feeling a little dread at the onset of summer. The life-giving moisture is gone, and the sky turns dingy brown. Spring’s green annual grasses die to a crisp, withered brown and wildflowers shrivel and go to seed. Plants that do continue to photosynthesize enter a state of torpor employing a variety of strategies to limit the desiccating effects of our characteristic summer drought. Creatures are no longer thriving; they are just hoping to survive until the rains return.
This is one of the reasons I am attracted to the Sierra Nevada. The antidote is there. While a summer hiker in the Coast Range is pulling burrs out of his socks and gulping water to fend off dehydration, the Sierra hiker sits in lush grass by a roaring cascade watching a butterfly gulp nectar from a luscious Leopard Lily. A cool afternoon wind rushes up the mountains forming roiling cumulus thunderheads that may soon drive you to seek cover.
It’s spring all summer up there. One sees the energy of life, beautiful and unchecked. While we lowlanders seek refuge from the oppressive heat of August, a Sierra hiker walks through a crisp fresh world – clear streams, green grass, wildflowers and refreshing breezes.
When I say the Sierra Nevada, I mean the high sierra – the alpine country where granite pokes through the meadows and forests opening vistas to the peaks that are the backbone of the range. It is exciting to pack into this country, but there are many places where it can be enjoyed very close to the car.
Here is a road trip that, including its tributaries, offers Sierra Club calendar views from the car window or only a short walk from it. Take Highway 108 over 9,624-foot Sonora Pass (don’t be in a hurry). As you descend to Bridgeport, you will realize that the mountains you climbed so gradually from the west drop off dramatically on the east side. When you reach the valley below, turn right on Highway 395. The simplest directions for this trip are: Drive south on Highway 395 to Lone Pine. On the way, make every right turn you can and proceed to the end of the road.
Highway 395 follows the dramatic eastern escarpment of the Sierra Nevada. As you head south through Mono Basin and the Owens Valley, the dramatic Sierra crest will follow you, towering 10,000 feet over your head outside the passenger window. Every right turn is a short and glorious side trip that takes you from the sagebrush and Pinyon pines of the high desert to the threshold of alpine country. Twin Lakes, Virginia Lakes, Lundy Canyon, Mosquito Flat (higher than 10,000 feet), McGee Creek and on and on – each one is a world class destination strung like pearls along Highway 395.
Toward Bishop and south to Lone Pine the desert will be hot, but each right turn will climb eight or 10 short miles to mountain refreshment. When you reach Lone Pine (3,700 feet), you will have a clear view of Mt. Whitney (14,496 feet), 12 crow-flying miles away.
If you are looking for the surge of life that we love in spring, you can find it here all summer long without leaving your car. But bring along a daypack and a water bottle and make the trip even better.
